


Sharp Presentation

by OneEyedDestroyer



Series: Beautiful, Languid, and Filthy-Gorgeous [9]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Champagne, Drinking, Eliot being extra, Multi, Sabrage, Seduction, Slice of Life, Swords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 08:19:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13853751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneEyedDestroyer/pseuds/OneEyedDestroyer
Summary: “Where is my champagne, Margo?”“On the table, neckdown in the ice bucket waiting for your little party trick to begin.”Eliot wants to show Q one of his many hidden talents.





	Sharp Presentation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vivi_Marius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivi_Marius/gifts).



> So, this got really out of hand really quickly. Vivi made an offhand comment about how Eliot would know how to open a bottle of champagne with a saber, and what was supposed to be a drabble became a full blown Production™️. I shouldn’t have expected anything less from our High King. 
> 
> This is set in an amorphous window of time before Shit Got Real in the canon.  
> This is definitely primed to be a lead in to some threesome smut, so look forward to that. I hope you enjoy! I had so much fun writing this, and Eliot has so much fun showing off.

“Where is my champagne, Margo?”

“On the table, neckdown in the ice bucket waiting for your little party trick to begin.” She gestures flippantly at the bottle of Dom Pérignon Rosé 2005.

“It’s not a party trick, it’s high art!” He punctuates the word ‘art’ by pulling a handkerchief from his jacket with a snap and wiping down his hands. This needs to go perfectly, all the details need to be in order. “This is a $400 bottle of champagne and we are going to have the perfect night. I just need to get it right.”

The sun is getting heavy in the sky, just beginning to kiss everything golden. They’ve spent all afternoon setting up their private soirée. Fairy lights strung up along the cottage lawn, a generous spread of hors d’oeuvres, and the main event: champagne. They’ve wanted to do something special for Q for a while. Words and feelings aren’t their strength, but they do know how to show someone a good time.

“I’ve seen you do it a million times. He’ll be begging to blow you when you’re done. I promise,” she says lightly caressing his hand, pulling him away from the table he’s been fussing over for the last hour.

“I hope you’re right, Bambi,” he pulls her in close and looks deep into her eyes before giving her a sweet kiss. He really wants to show off for Quentin; it’s been a while since he’s been this nervous. He is so grateful to have Margo here to ground him.

“When am I ever wrong, El?” she says as she rests her hands on his shoulders. Eliot cocks an eyebrow and opens his mouth to quip back at her. “Don’t answer that.” She smooths her fingers over his collar, neatly adjusts his Eldredge-knitted tie, and smiles.

Eliot’s meticulousness is on full display tonight. His suit is tailored beautifully to compliment his build; he might as well have been dipped into the nearly black richness. A clever eye (something Quentin does not possess) will notice that the coral of his tie and pocket square match the label of the champagne, and the plum paisley waistcoat was selected to pair with the decorative foil on the bottle.

Margo steps over to the table and inspects the spread one last time before subjecting it to Eliot’s scrutiny. She adjusts the spacing between a few of the dishes; Eliot can’t stand to have his presentations too cluttered. Once she’s satisfied with the way the food looks, she moves over to the champagne station and opens the saber box. A long, upward curved blade sits on plush, velvet bedding; the hilt is leather-wrapped, guarded, and tipped with a decorative tassel.

“I’ll never get tired of looking at this thing. Talk about high art,” Margo says as she runs her fingers along the side of the saber. At first glance, it appears to be etched with delicate roses, intertwined and in various states of bloom. The details, however, are as lascivious as they are marvelous; thick, veiny cocks nestled in flower petals and leaves next to asscheeks spread wide revealing rosebuds of a different sort.

“Absolutely magnificent, don’t we think? My prized possession!” His smile is wide and his eyes light up in a rare moment of true bliss.

“It’s fucking perfect.” Margo smiles just as wide. Nothing touches her heart the way Eliot’s smile does. “Are you ready for him, El?”

Eliot closes the box on the saber and takes a deep breath. He considers his surroundings for a bit. He nearly objects to something before shaking his head and deciding it doesn’t matter. The gentle gold of the sun is starting to turn amber, he needs to go now if he wants to keep up with the light.

“Yes.”

“Quentin!” The smile in her voice is almost tangible as she calls into the cottage. “You can come out now.”

“Wha—what’s going on?” He stumbles over his own feet as he steps through the door, completely taken aback. Regaining his composure, he tugs on his tattered, grey sweater and runs his fingers through his hair.

“We want to show you something.” Eliot grabs Quentin’s hand and walks him to one of the chairs by the refreshments table. “Have a seat, Q,” he says with a gesture of his hand.

Quentin looks around and tries to take in the whole scene before him. Rosy sunlight reflects off of everything; he’s never seen it look so beautiful. Before him stands a large table covered in finger food, and other fancy, colorful appetizers he could never dream to be able to identify. A dark wooden box that’s longer than it is tall sits next to the bucket that’s chilling the bottle of champagne. Quentin can’t help but wonder what could be in it, and what it has to do with the food.

Stepping away from Quentin, Eliot shrugs the suit jacket off his shoulders and drapes it over the back of his chair. He unhooks his cufflinks, and folds his sleeves back, exposing his strong forearms. He walks over to the table, opens the wooden box and grabs the saber. Quentin won’t say it out loud, but the thought of Eliot wielding a sword makes him incredibly nervous.

“The Art of Sabrage!” Eliot says with a wave of his sword. In true Eliot fashion, he addresses his intimate audience of two like a packed opera house. “Needing no introduction other than the words of Napoleon himself, ‘Champagne, in victory, one deserves it; in defeat, one needs it.’”

“Did Napoleon actually say that?” Quentin asks.

“Honestly, the jury’s still out, but how about we stop focusing on the wrong details and enjoy the ride.” Margo pets his head and directs his gaze back toward Eliot who is trying not to lose his composure.

Eliot walks back to the table and pulls the bottle of Dom Pérignon from the chiller. He sets the saber down and grabs a small towel. Blotting the bottle dry, he makes eye contact with Quentin. He briefly considers making a suggestive gesture, but he doesn’t want to come on too strong, not yet. For now, he’ll let the blade do the work.

“Quentin, prepare to be utterly seduced.”

“Wha—” Quentin begins before Margo hushes him with a condescending sound.

Eliot removes the protective foil from the bottle in two swift motions. He grips the neck of the bottle and secures the cork beneath his thumb as he loosens and removes the metal cage. Quentin leans forward and prepares to speak.

“Before you ask, this little guy is called a ‘muselet’.” he lets the word rest heavily on his tongue as he discards the bit of metal.

“That wasn’t what I was going to ask. What I was going to—“

“Eliot is very proud of his French, let him have this, Q,” Margo says in a pointed whisper.

Eliot returns to the table and grabs the saber in his left hand. He runs his fingers along the champagne bottle, turning it around as he carefully inspects it. Once he’s satisfied, he nestles his right thumb into the punt of the bottle. His long fingers, set with deep veins that create the most exquisite chiaroscuro in the waning sunlight, spread across the label as he makes sure to point the bottle away from his audience. He places the saber blade gently along the back of the bottle and makes a couple of slow, sensual strokes up and down the bottle, lining up the shot. Without warning, he makes a quick, firm strike from the back of the bottle to the neck. The lip splits neatly from the bottle and the cork goes flying into the distance with a dramatic pop. Before it’s too late, Eliot tips the bottle up so as not to lose any more champagne than is customary. Just enough bubbles over the freshly cut glass and slips between his long fingers, leaving them sticky and wet.

Quentin’s mouth falls open and he reaches out to touch Margo in genuine surprise and excitement before recoiling, realizing that perhaps he shouldn’t touch her without invitation. They both clap and laugh, delighted. Even though Margo has seen Eliot do this a few times, she never tires of it.

“Who wants rosé?” Eliot asks as he returns to the table, the fingers of his right hand still in the same grip around the bottle.

Margo and Quentin hurry over to the table, standing a bit too close to Eliot in eager anticipation. Eliot pours tiny amounts of the coral pink champagne into each of the three glasses, wetting them. One by one, he fills them making sure to stop pouring as the bubbles are about two inches from the top so that they rise right to the lip without spilling over. Once the bubbles settle, he tops them off and sets the bottle down.

“The perfect blend of Pinot Noir and Chardonnay, this champagne is physical and rich, just like us,” Eliot says as he hands the glasses to Margo and Quentin. He grabs his own glass and raises it to the twilight.

“To our own unique brand of debauchery!”

Margo and Quentin raise their glasses to meet Eliot’s, touching with a light ring.

“To debauchery!” They say in unison. For a second, Eliot could’ve sworn he heard Quentin say “bitches” under his breath. Based on her laugh, he’s guessing Margo heard it too. He wraps an arm around each of them. Drinking deeply, they allow themselves the freedom of relaxation. This toast is just the beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> [ **That smut I promised** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17604707)


End file.
